


Poetry

by Kierran



Category: Original Work
Genre: No Fandom - Freeform, Other, Poetry, Practice for Author
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 01:32:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17951078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kierran/pseuds/Kierran
Summary: I glimpse a hint of a moment,and I reach out, but the action is in vain.As though grasping at a swirling and nimble leafin a rapid current; it disappears too fast into the past.Slipping through my grasp; sliding through my fingers...





	Poetry

Mountain  
There is a scent of pine, mixed in with the earth.  
I see a landscape dotted with groves of green pine as I look forth.  
A crisp breeze chases away the heat of the sun.  
A beautiful peace settled after the new day had begun.  
Cool air kisses my cheek. It is heavy with early morning moisture, fresh and clean.  
Untouched by man, nature makes a stunning scene.  
Where the ground meets the sky,  
Mounted atop my ranch mare, I feel as though I could fly.  
The vast, wide world is in tranquility,  
And in my soul, I feel harmony.  
The pines stir and the golden quakies rattle.  
I lean back and shift comfortably in my saddle.  
For a moment I look and soak in the view,  
Every plant, rock, and animal. Every detail down to the very last hue.  
Then I nudge my horse forward, falling easily into rhythm.  
The world around me sings, a melodious hymn.  
Far across the ridge I spot some antelope.  
My sorrel mare senses my mounting joy and is eager to gallop.  
I can see sage grouse down below from where I ride.  
I nudge my horse with my legs, and she speeds up, lengthening her stride.  
We soar across the ground, and she tips an ear towards me.  
Surrounded by the artistry of the mountains, I feel free.

Flowing Currents  
It flows on like a river,  
Sweeping by swiftly, as I stand at the bank.  
Of the stream of time.  
I glimpse a hint of a moment,  
and I reach out, but the action is in vain.  
As though grasping at a swirling and nimble leaf  
in a rapid current; it disappears too fast into the past.  
Slipping through my grasp; sliding through my fingers.  
It ebbs away, down the stream,  
becoming but a distant memory.  
So, I carry on as does the passing of time  
Speeding away, traveling ever on…


End file.
